


That which is Real

by DeathjunkE



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Desperation, Desperation Play, Hand Jobs, Light Masochism, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:16:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathjunkE/pseuds/DeathjunkE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It makes you tired. You just feel so drained that you want to stop. Stop moving. Stop breathing. Stop thinking. Stop remembering. Things never work out like you want them to. Nothing will come and strike me dead behind the thick stonewalls of the castle no matter how much I wish, provoke, and wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That which is Real

**Author's Note:**

> And thank you whitmans_kiss , you’re made of awesomesauce.

The days all blur together, now. Everything was just there. There were no challenges, no changes; it was all one long disconnected monotonous existence. 

It makes you tired. You just feel so drained that you want to stop. Stop moving. Stop breathing. Stop thinking. Stop remembering. Things never work out like you want them to. Nothing will come and strike me dead behind the thick stonewalls of the castle no matter how much I wish, provoke, and wait.

No matter what happens or how I feel, life goes on all around me. It shouldn’t be like this—I’m not saying that the world should stop or that my problems take precedence. It’s just that … I don’t even know anymore.

Sometimes I just drift in my thoughts throughout the day, through the halls, through my mind, wondering if there is anything that will make the world real for me.

I can touch, but I never feel.   
I can smell, but it’s all stale.   
I can see, but eyes are deceiving.   
I can eat, but it all taste like ashes to me.

I want to be different. I don’t want to hate myself, my family, my life. I don’t want to feel like this - empty, hollow, unsure. I’m losing myself with every breath and I know there’s nothing I can do about it. 

Bits of my soul eke out with every breath, and I’d do anything to make it stop. All I ever do is make the feeling recede for a little while - but it’s better than nothing.

“Draco!” I turned to see Pansy sprinting across the grounds, running as fast as she could to greet me. “Draco! Where were you today?” she questioned, wrapping her gloved fingers around the crook of my arm. 

“I had some things to take care of, Pansy.” I pressed my cold fingers against her hand in the way mother had taught me when I was a small child. _Remember Draco, gentlemen were always supposed to be gracious—Malfoy men were always gentlemen._ I couldn’t help but feel annoyed. I hated dealing with Pansy on a regular basis, but now was just the wrong time. “What did you need me for?”

“I didn’t need you. I just noticed that you weren’t at Hogsmeade today. It’s the last time we get to go before the holidays.”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t like to shop there.” Malfoys didn’t settle for the ordinary - it was best or bust. Common things just weren’t acceptable. “Everyone shops there so every one gets the same gifts. I do my shopping at the Roman market before solstice.”

Pansy rolled her eyes and huffed. “Nothing less for a _Malfoy_ , of course.” The smarmy little bitch was already gnawing at the last strands of my patience and making the head ache I had even worse. 

“Of course.” I smiled the picture smile that I gave during family events and public appearances. I bumped my body against hers hard enough to knock her off balance and into the snow bank we were walking alongside. As expected, she started to shriek and shout, but I just blocked out the sound. I wanted nothing to do with her, and even less to do with her shrill complaints. 

“Eee! Draco, you prat! You got snow up my skirt! Hey! Don’t walk away! Help me up!” 

“Help yourself.” I turned on my heel and made my way through the knee-high snow back to the castle. It took longer than I would have liked, but my limbs felt like they were made of lead and my vision was slightly blurry. The grand Foyer was warm and busy as usual. This time, everyone was milling about in preparation for dinner, groups chatting and horsing around as if it was genuinely a good day. I don’t even remember what a good day feels like. I stomped my feet to release the snow that was stuck to them and brushed off my cloak. 

“OI! Take that outside or at the very least clean up after yehrself!” I looked up briefly, to make sure I was the one being addressed. It was that stupid squib Filch who was snapping at me like an irritated dog. “Yeh ‘ere me!”

“No, I’m quite deaf,” I called back before pushing through the crowd to the stairwell that led to the Slytherin commons and dorms. The dorm room was quiet. There was no one there, as I expected. 

I relished the time alone because my head hurt something awful. It was like a tribe of mining trolls had taken up residence between my ears. I was just so damn tired; my stomach gurgled loudly and I felt nauseous. I didn’t want to move; I didn’t want to breathe.

I remembered that when I was a child, to get my way with the nannies, father, and mother, I’d have a Cyanotic breath-holding spell. It drove my parents into to panic fits, but it felt good to me. The feeling of lightness was a real treat for me. 

I’d hold my breath until I was blue --it wasn’t hard; I was naturally pale, which made the color a lot more noticeable-- and then pass out for a few seconds. I hadn’t done it for some time—I was eight the last time I stopped breathing deliberately. I had held my breath after a screaming fit hadn’t gotten me the cake I wanted. That day, Godfather was there, and I didn’t realize that he wouldn’t be sympathetic to my tantrums. He gave me a disgusted look and turned back to his coffee, and from that day on I stopped… until now, that is. 

The feeling that not breathing gives is better than anything, better than flying or the opiate based potions they sell in the back streets of Knockturn and Hogsmeade. It was more like drifting—drifting into a separate existence.

It’s a feeling that I will do anything for. It’s a feeling that transcends pain. It comes after your throat itches, lungs burn and eyes water, that little moment of heaven just before you pass out, when everything is good and right and there is no thinking or questions. You just are.

The feeling lasts just a fleeting moment, but it feels so good. The pain makes it all the more intense. The pain, you feel it in you – it’s sharp and it hurts and just when it’s too much, you’re breaking into heaven. 

The more intense the pain, the longer you can stay. 

There’s a catch though, that liberating pain… it’s not something that you can just do yourself. I’ve tried—well, almost tried really; my pain tolerance is low and I’m afraid of pain. I don’t like pain; I like its after effects. So things like cutting and burning, no matter how hard I’d try or how well I’d prepare – I could never really do it to myself.

I switched to things I knew I could do. 

Although I craved external pain, I couldn’t go through with it. I had to find a new way, and I did. I found it by eating every few days, and even then it was just enough to keep my body functioning and my stomach intact. If you go hungry for too long, the hunger pangs, the cramps and the perpetual lightness all disappear in favor of a distended stomach and gas.

I wanted to feel the pain, to feel my stomach’s burn and ache before I doubled over in pain and watched the spots flicker in my vision as the led me to the gates of paradise, of knowing and nothing.

I laid across my bed drifting. The way I figured, I’d have about an hour and a half until people started coming back from dinner. So I grinned and let myself go.

 

“You stupid boy,” were the first words I heard upon opening my eyes. “Starving yourself until your body was forced to shut down. I should kill you myself.”

My limbs were still heavy but my head was completely clear—as far away from floating as was possible. I looked around me, my eyes sliding from the goldenrod Egyptian cotton sheets to the intricately carved chest of drawers and I knew where I was. I couldn’t help but hate my godfather at that moment. But I was grateful that he hadn’t taken me to Madame Pomfrey. I’d never be able to reach my state of drifting again if she was calling me down to the infirmary for daily check ups.

“Seve…” I remembered that I was still at school and stopped myself, “Professor Snape…” I tried to explain, to him, to let him know I wasn’t always this weak, but my words got lost somewhere along the way.

“Yes, idiot child?” I turned my head partially and saw him perched on the other half of the bed, legs crossed under his body and a book in his lap. Godfather’s hair was pulled back into a short tail and he was still in his brewer’s robes. He looked just like he had when I knew him as a small child. I shuddered and tried not to look directly at him, in the hopes of escaping that disappointed glare.

“May I go back to my dorm now?”

“No.” Before I could protest, he continued, “I don’t trust you not to do irreparable damage to yourself. So until I think you can handle life outside my sight you will be bunking here.”

“In _your_ bed?” I sneered, while frantically trying to figure out how I was going to get out of this.

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy; you’re not sleeping in my bed. The house elves are bringing up a cot for you as we speak.” Professor Snape never looked up but still somehow I felt foolish and irritated. 

“I don’t want to stay here.”

Severus just turned the page of his book, before glancing at it and snapping it closed. I fought the urge to squirm when he zeroed in on me with those intense dark eyes. “I just had to brew two gallons of nutrient and supplement potions, shove them down your throat and tend to you for the better part of three days, all while keeping this situation from the school’s matron and head master. So, little boy, you don’t get to talk to me about what you want.”

I gritted my teeth and turned away.

 

Life under Snape’s regime was torturous. 

Under those watchful pitch black eyes, my body began to fill out again. My nails started to grow and my dreamy nirvana was more out of reach than ever. 

My every move was observed. In the mornings I was walked to the great hall for every meal and not allowed to leave until I cleared my plate. Prefects were ordered to escort me from class to class. Quidditch was a thing of the past; all of my spare time was spent in my Head of house’s presence, be he grading papers, brewing or conducting home Floo updates. All bathroom visits were chaperoned, timed and I was instructed to leave the door open.

I waited each day, counting the seconds until I could curl up on my cot in the corner of my Snape’s bedroom and sleep. Being unconscious was the next best thing to drifting. 

It wasn’t until almost a month later that I discovered a new way to drift-- and it wasn’t even intentional. It started at breakfast. Instead of eating, I had decided to forgo my usual breakfast in favor of pastries and much as coffee and I could stand. The first half of the day was so busy that there wasn’t time for a break of any kind, and I had been studying for a charms quiz during lunch. I was being herded between History of Magic and double Potions when I felt the need to go to the bathroom. It was the only time I would have been able to go; there are no such things as bathroom breaks during potions.

“Jonas, we’ve got to stop by the loo.”

“No way, Malfoy.” The bastard growled at me as we descended the dungeons staircase. “I’ve got to get from here to Sinistra’s class in five minutes. We make any stops, and I can kiss my O goodbye! So hold it and keep walking.”

I just snorted and slipped past the mousey guy and into the lav when we passed the door. I had figured that he’d just wait for me at the door or something-- I would never have thought that he’d go get Snape, but son of a Grim did. The moment I saw my godfather, I knew that I never wanted to hex anyone more than the miserable shit that sold me out.

I didn’t get much further than unzipping the placket of my trousers before I saw the professor’s reflection above the urinals. With a huff I turned and scowled at him. “Oh come on! I’m not even late.” 

“I never said you were. Now if you have to go, then go.” 

“I can’t!”

“And yet you nearly made Jonas late for his next class because you wanted a bathroom break.” Those eyes were on me again, I felt like I was being dissected and examined. “Come, then.”

When I got to the class, everyone was already starting to set up their cauldrons. I got my workstation in order quickly and took a seat. During the lecture I tried to pay attention. I ignored the need to pee long enough to listen to the effects and intricacies of muscle mending potions. By the time I had to go to the student store cupboard to get the ingredients my need to pee was only a tickle in the back of my mind. When the first half of the class was over I had managed to tuck the urge out of my mind.

The second half was nowhere near as pleasant. I was standing over my cauldron with my legs clamped tightly together. I couldn’t leave to run to the bathroom; this was a critical stage in the potion. It needed constant tending-- two clock wise turns every fifty three seconds and an anticlockwise turn every third set of clock wise turns. I grit my teeth and clenched the stirring rod tightly.

Then I felt them, the cramps that I had lived for not more than a month ago.  
I was so shocked I nearly lost control—but I caught myself in time. I bowed my head over the cauldron and smiled. This—this was something no one but me cold control and something no one but I could do anything about. I rode the pain out for a while. It felt good to know that I was in control again, that I would be touching nirvana soon.

I looked up at the board to be sure that I had completed the last steps. In stead I caught the professor’s eye. I fought back the blush that threatened to burn me alive. He had to know. The way he looked at me, with a lazy stare and the barest quirk of his lips. He shook his head slowly and turned back to the papers on his desk.

“Goyle, bottle this for me.” I waited for him to nod before I eased myself onto the stool and slowly leaned forward. I tried to calm myself down and get rid of the urge to blush. I was just imagining things; Godfather didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Besides crossing my legs or jiggling them every now and again, I never gave any sign of my need. I didn’t even moan when the pain of my full bladder spiked. 

I was sweating when Professor Snape was reminding us of the ten minutes we had left. I wrote my observations in my notebook all while relishing the pressure on my bladder and the burning pain of my cramps. When Goyle went up to hand in today’s project, I stood ready to dart out of the room, when I felt a hand clasp tightly to my shoulder and heard the bells ring.

“With me, Mr. Malfoy or did you forget.” His voice was just as smooth as always. 

“I didn’t forget sir.” I watched my classmates leave one after the other in a rush to leave the stuffy dungeon. My books were still stacked on the slate table and my satchel was on the floor. I clenched my muscles tightly, loving the burn and desperately trying not to humiliate myself. My breaths were shallow and I was almost afraid to exhale. “I….I just…” I stopped my self by biting my lip.

“Put your things away, and follow me.”

As per usual I did as I was instructed. I followed Godfather as close as I possibly could while fighting the urge not to double over. For every one step he took I had to take three. The door to his quarters opened and I darted inside. I was so intent on finding the bathroom that I barely stopped to kick off my shoes.

“Freeze.” I nearly cried but stopped anyway. It hurt so badly that I wanted to kill myself; there was no lightheadedness, no almost conscious feeling - nirvana never came. It was all just a terrible pain. My hands curled into fist and my lip was bleeding. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“The bathroom, sir.” I couldn’t help the whine I was at the end of my rope any second now I’d pop. “Please.”

“One moment.” I swear he enjoyed making me wait. I pranced impatiently about, unable to keep still as Godfather slipped off his shoes and positioned them by the door. He unfastened the buttons of his robes and waistcoat slowly, before looking pointedly at me. “Your shoes.”

I managed to toe my shoes into order and beside his before I raced to the bathroom door, standing beside it. I hated this pain, and I never wanted to feel it again. He waved his hand loftily and the door slid open. I couldn’t get to the toilet fast enough! 

When I finally was able to let go it was amazing. Again I was drifting, I felt light and my limbs trembled my breathing became irregular. After the sensations of emptying my bladder caught up with me, I sighed at in pleasure and adjusted my grip on my cock. I started slow, pumping lightly and letting my thumb slide over the pink head.

I started at the snort that came from behind me and turned. 

I started at the pitch black stare, so penetrating and raw. It felt as if I was stripped bare. I was everything and nothing, reflected in those eyes and I couldn’t help but shiver. 

“Just like your father.” I heard godfather mutter as he slid behind me. 

I gasped when he drew me close with an arm about my waist and pulled me against his chest. I didn’t fight, I wouldn’t dream of it—godfather’s very presence had always commanded obedience and respect. I yelped constantly as he pinched the inside of my thighs and bit the lobe of my ear harshly. All of those small bits of pain just made me needier and pliant. I felt the charge of arousal as his strong fingers worked me over, twisting sharply and on occasion squeezing too hard.  
It wasn’t long before I came, my milky come dribbling over his fingers and onto my thighs as I listened to my echoing pants. This blinding feeling was so good. Every sensation was transmuted to pure pleasure.

“Another Malfoy for me to deal with.” I lifted my eyes to the mirror and studied my godfather’s face. He was smiling sardonically, though I could tell he was amused and maybe even pleased. “Let me guess, you’ve been doing all this for the high?”

“W-what?” I croaked, too drunk with pleasure unable to control my voice and stay on my feet at the same time.

“The high, you know—the feeling that you get when the pain turns into something that feels good.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As I thought.” The smooth tone of voice promised something, something great, something that I could help but want. I didn’t know what it was but I knew I couldn’t miss out; this was the most real I had felt ever since I walked into this godforsaken school, and I wouldn’t let that slip away easily. “Take off your clothes and come to the bedroom.” 

I kicked the garments that had somehow made their way to my ankles off and next to the toilet and stripped of my shirt and robes before scrambling to the next room. I don’t know what I expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t anything as casual as Godfather seated. My stomach still fluttered in anticipation; I knew something was going to happen—I just didn’t know what.

“Come.” Those long pale fingers crooked in the universal come hither. I followed without a second thought. 

I was aware of my spent cock bobbing against my thigh, the all too cool air and the soft carpet beneath my feet. The light in the room was dim and flickering, and the fire warm and permeating everything, even my perpetually chilled bones. There was a faint musk in the air that I hadn’t been able to detect before. 

I shivered.

I felt Godfather’s smooth hand slide around my own and pull me closer to him. I stood between his parted thighs with my nose buried in the nape of his neck and my free hand tangled in his shirt. It had been so long since I had really _felt_.

“Do you trust me, Draco?” I nodded, unwilling to break the spell his voice and presence had cast. “Good. Now, I know you like the pain. Many do; it’s nothing to be afraid or ashamed of. The people I know… they need it to feel stable, to feel free, to be honest, to truly feel, or in the more extreme cases, to function.” 

I understood it all. Though I craved pain for those reasons, I craved it for the pleasure and of clarity of reality it would bring. I listened to the lecture intently, standing still and reveling in the feeling of being held.

“There’s good pain and bad pain.” he said. “Good pain is a pain that will give you exactly what you want with nothing more than bruises and abrasions. Bad pain is damaging - what you were doing to yourself by not eating and other things you might have done. That will not help you… It will give you what you want but just for a fleeting moment. And it will leave you damn near dead. Do you under stand me, Draco?” 

I nodded and got my side flicked for my troubles. “Yes, sir. I understand you.”

“Good.” He pulled me away from his neck and looked me in the eyes. It was hard to hold his gaze; he was much too intense… Everything that was passion was in those dark eyes. “I enjoy pain. Not receiving it, but giving it, and watching it manifest into something more… I will gladly give you the pain you want, if that is what you want.”

“I want …I want it.”

“We’ll start off light, but when you’re ready, there will be different kinds of pain.” 

I was guided over one of godfather’s thighs, my feet barely touching the ground and my hands clutching his ankle for support. My body quaked in anticipation, and then I felt it, a searing strike to my arse. I grunted, and braced myself for more of the same. It was more humiliating than painful; I was here enduring a child’s punishment all in the name of pleasure.

“Draco, stop fighting me.” He said, but I just couldn’t understand how I was fighting. I was lying compliant over his lap and taking my licks without protest.

The pace was brisk and the strikes were hard. That crack of Godfather’s - that large palm again my soft rump echoed through the room. It didn’t hurt badly at first --it was bearable. But as time went on the heat built up and my skin started to prickle. My grunts became whines and those whines became squeals. I couldn’t keep still. I thrashed and tried to lever myself off of Godfather’s lap.

“Relax, accept the pain. If you do you’ll never feel more alive, I promise.”

Despite my frantic struggles, I couldn’t escape. I squealed and shouted and sobbed pleas for mercy. I couldn’t feel anything but pain. No matter what I said or how I tried to squirm away to block the agonizing swats, they kept coming. Eventually I gave myself up to the tears and the fact that I would be here draped over godfather’s knee until the end of time. I was too tired to be tense, to anticipate. All I could do was take what was dished out to my sore rump.

That’s when it happened. My breathing changed first; somehow it got deeper as if every breath was a sigh my limbs were limp and still and my eyes had had slid close close. It was so much better than drifting, better than my half conscious nirvana. It was everything good and peaceful, and I could do nothing but feel and enjoy. All sensations were pleasure, and all pleasure was me.

I felt my body being moved, but I hardly cared. I watched as the man who gave me this intense moment laid me down on his bed. I smiled softly, relishing the feeling, unwilling to move or speak. I indulged in the feelings of lightness and rightness, sighing blissfully as my hair was petted and my shoulders rubbed, and knew that this moment was real.


End file.
